I’m back.
Yes, even though I said I was going to end the Sunday Roast when I last posted in December 2013, I couldn’t help myself. You see, there are so many stupid things to comment on, and they all seem to happen to me. Therefore, what I shall do is offer an occasional meal for you. And here it is.
So what’s been happening?
I’ve been busy: Writing another book, rehearsing for a musical, and working bloody hard.. I’ve also not long returned from a week’s holiday in my favourite exotic hotspot – Torbay.
Now don’t laugh, I’ve been going there on and off for 35 years and this was my 18th trip. I love the place. You’d think after all that time, though, I’d be bored, but you’re wrong. There’s always something new to see, like the most sinister looking Disney Tramp I have ever seen.
Really, the thing looked rabid. And while I was in the same amusement arcade, I noticed this in one of the 2 pence tipping machines.
Okay, how exactly are you supposed to win that mug? There is no way it would ever get down the drop slot and even if it did, it would smash.
But that wasn’t all I saw on holiday. I took the kids on their bi-annual visit to the model village and this was in one of the displays.
I hate to ask, but had the late Charlton Heston begun a course of hormone treatment in preparation for a transgender operation? I’m not sure, but those breasts are bigger than my ex-wife’s.
And there were other curiosities …
Huh! Why; something Thomas the Tank uses when he goes to Tesco?
And there was an even bigger, why in Dartmouth.
Something looks decidedly fishy about that décor.
And another new experience for me in Torbay, I went on the big wheel which you can see in this picture.
However, it was only when I got to the top and it stopped for five minutes, I suddenly remembered my terrible fear of heights.
Jesuuuus! It was high. I never used to be that scared when I was young, but I was glad to get off this time.
However, the holiday wasn’t all that bad, and I did get to play an upmarket game of crazy golf on a top course.
Yes, they don’t make them like they do in Torbay. Not quite sure what the pig is doing, but I made a bit of a ham of my shot as a result.
And I discovered a funny thing in my wallet.
No, it wasn’t a condom – smart arse. Before going on holiday, I emptied my wallet of all the useless things I wouldn’t want (like condoms). However, once in Torbay, I found I did need the store loyalty card, and I did need my petrol miles card, and I especially needed my backup credit card. I may have even needed my driving licence. What I didn’t need, though, was the business card given to me by the guy doing magic tricks at my nephew’s wedding.
So if I needed extra cash or to present my licence, I was buggered. But on the other hand, if I happened to require the services of a magician on holiday … hey, don’t say I’m never prepared on that score.
And that’s the holiday, but what else have I been doing?
Well, I returned home to find my back patio covered in weeds. Yes, these would be the ones the man who re-laid my slabs two years ago said would never return.
Now I know what you are going to say, weeds are simply flowers growing in the wrong place.
Bollocks! They are not! Weeds are evil and must be eradicated. However, I didn’t want to spend a fortune on weed killer so I was pleased to have a chance encounter with the man who does the gardens at work who told me the trade secret.
Formula: ½ Gallon of Cider Vinegar, 2 tablespoons of washing up liquid, and one cup of salt.
Cup! What size cup, for heaven’s sake: Egg cup, tea cup, FA Cup …? I don’t know, so I took the liberal view and used a mug. However, after spending loads on this pump spray container, I was kind of wishing I’d simply bought the weedkiller in the first place as it would have been far cheaper.
Okay, does a mixture of mainly vinegar really get rid of your weeds? The answer is, yes, but every time I step into my garden now, I get a craving to buy a bag of chips.
Change my name to Doctor Griffin.
You see, that was the name of the Invisible Man in the novel by HG Wells.
So you’re going to ask why … Okay, I’ll tell.
By chance while online, I came across somebody I worked with over twenty years ago. I was surprised, but glad because I liked them and we always got on. I messaged her but imagine how put out I was when after two or three conversations she admitted she couldn’t remember me. I named numerous other staff members of the time, and so did she, but I was still forgotten. How is this possible? We sat opposite one another for two years! Have I been erased from history? Obviously so. But even more weird, at least once a month somebody will come up to me and swear they know me from somewhere, but the person they think I am is not me. Work that one out!
Great, somewhere I have a doppelgänger enjoying a living out of my past.
Too Mush-room on my plate.
The reason for that terrible phrase will become obvious when I explain what will now go down in history as The Great Aberystwyth Wetherspoon’s Mushroom Incident.
Yes, I was in Wetherspoon’s having one of their breakfasts. While ordering, I asked if instead of tomatoes and beans (yuk), could I have extra mushrooms. You see, the breakfast only came with one flat mushroom. And I do like my mushrooms.
I was told yes, and imagine my anticipation when my breakfast arrived and I was told, ‘Your extra mushrooms will come on a separate plate.’
Great … loads of mushrooms. What more could I ask?
Picture my face when this arrived.
Look, one sodding mushroom in place of beans and tomato is not a fair swap – right?
Is the Sunday Roast back for good?
Probably once a month. And not even on a Sunday sometimes. So it’s just going to be The Roast. You see I’m terribly busy and how many tales of dodgy mushrooms can one person deliver?
Cheers.
Nick
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Antony N Britt - Author 